The Hurricane
by Libby16
Summary: As Antonio works through the loss of a love, a little Micronation soon enters and warms his heart. However, this new nation isn't as he appears and soon Europe turns to turmoil. Full list of genres: Romance, angst, tragedy, drama. Spamano and GerIta.


**1870**

_Breath in._

_Breath out. _

"Antonio, promise me that you'll carry on, that you'll live."

The man in question shifts forward on the edge of his seat, looking at his lover with pleading eyes. "Lovi I…I don't know how to," he whispers.

"Of course you do, idiot…just do what you've always done. Pick some tomatoes, go to the beach, get drunk off your ass with your bastards of friends…okay maybe not with them," jokes Lovino. He takes a shaky breath in and turns his milky hazel eyes to meet Antonio's effervescent emerald. He knows it will be hard for him, but he truly doesn't think that he's worth Antonio's tears.

Such a bright and happy man with a smile to rival the sun – it wasn't right for tears to well in those eyes. Especially if he were the cause, Lovino thinks.

_Breath in._

_Breath out._

"Lovi I…I will try my best. I can't make promises, but I'll try." Antonio leans forward to take the hand of the man he has loved for centuries. Hands once strong and calloused from years of working in the fields are now limp, weak. The muscle has faded from them along with the tan that had been kissed by the Italian sun.

"That's all I can ask, bastard." A weak chuckle escapes Lovino's lips, but it is soon followed by a round of raucous coughing. A bit of blood is forced up, and Lovino wipes it away with a rag that has long since been soiled crimson. "Ti amo."

_Breath in._

_Breath out…_

* * *

**1890**

_Dear Lovino,_

_It's been ten years since you've gone, and every day still hurts. I miss you, I need you, I love you._

…_I want to die…_

One by one bottles pile in Antonio's room. Whisky, brandy, even the finest of wines has been consumed in Antonio's haste to drown the pain.

After the death of Lovino, Antonio has never been the same. The sun has faded from his face, leaving behind dim shells in his eyes. He no longer sees the life in the world, as Lovino took it with him.

The crash of waves has diminished, and the taste of fresh tomato seeds on his tongue has turned to ash. The only thing Antonio knows, the only thing Antonio feels is the alcohol poisoning his system.

His friends plead with him to open his door, but he refuses.

Feliciano asks him to talk about Lovino's death and how he blames himself for the entire thing, but Antonio won't even listen.

He finds himself an empty shell – one that can only wither away more than it already was.

A way out is what Antonio seeks, an end to all his pain, but it's near impossible. As a country, he bears the curse of near immortality, and forever was too long a time without a lover

So he counts the seconds, day by day, just waiting for the moment he will be met with that foul mouth and caring heart once again.

* * *

**2030**

Where there are blue eyes, Antonio sees hazel. Where the hair is fair, Antonio sees the color of rich Italian soil. Where the skin is milky, Antonio sees tan. Where there is an entirely different person, Antonio sees a façade.

"What is your name?" Antonio asks, kneeling in front of the small boy.

Huddled in a corner in an alleyway, the little one nearly trembles in fear. Though there is something in the man's tone that draws him from his reticence: a kind, warm tone that holds the rich caramel of the earth intertwined with the desert sun. "Mortemia," he replies, his ocean eyes moving to look in the man's face.

There is a different aura in the small boy, something in the way he carries himself speaks of a youth with greater, worldly knowledge that can only be held with the wisest of ancients. He was like Antonio, and in this moment Antonio knows that the one called Mortemia wields the curse.

"How old is your nation?" Antonio asks, extending a hand to help the boy up. He appears malnourished and impoverished. His clothes hang limp around his frame and dirt mars his features.

Taking the hand, he pulls himself up with a bit of a struggle. "I'm young, sir," he says with nothing but politeness and formality in his voice, "not even a year old yet."

Ah, one so young would certainly have a difficult time making themselves known in the world and surely they wouldn't even be recognized as a true country yet. Taking in his size, Antonio figures that his land must be no more than ten kilometers in each distance.

So young and afraid, what choice did Antonio have? "I would like you to stay with me, if you're fine with that. I can take care of you and make sure that you have enough food to eat."

At the mention of food, not even a second passes before the young one agrees.

* * *

**2040**

_Dear Lovino,_

_For the first time in a long time, I think I'm all right. I can smile again; walk through my tomato fields again. I'm not entirely like I was before, but I'm managing. _

_I miss you, and I want you back with me, by my side._

_I've been raising Mortemia for ten years now, and he's made things much better. He's given me a reason to smile, Lovi, a reason to live._

_So…I don't think I want to die just yet. I think I want to stay here just a bit longer for him, because he needs me. _

_I've come to realize that the separation is only temporary, and we will see each other again. Even if it takes a thousand years, I will, because no country lasts forever._

_But for now, I know that you're watching over me, and I hope that you're proud of all that I've been doing._

_Love always,_

_Antonio_

* * *

In time the Micronation grew in size and power, and food was no longer a struggle for him.

Having lived with the Spaniard for the past ten years, Mortemia had grown stronger, his ocean eyes gaining a sparkle where they were once lackluster and barren. His frame filled out, and where ribs once poked visibly through flesh, a fine layer of healthy fat had covered him.

He was healthy, as was his land and people, all thanks to the help of the Kingdom of Spain.

When it became evident to Antonio that the Micronation wouldn't survive long without supplies and food, he talked it over with his boss and they came to decide that a small amount of crops and food could be sent to the nation, which incidentally was situated right on the border of Spain.

Mortemia and Spain worked out an agreement to where Spain would supply Mortemia with a bit of food in return for the citizen's contribution to the harvest. As long as the citizens of Mortemia worked alongside Spaniards, the nations lived together in a rhythm similar to clockwork.

More and more people fled to Mortemia as time went on, and in the eleven years since it had been established, the population neared one-hundred, a feat very near unimaginable for a Micronation.

Mortemia gained praise from Sealand, the chipper Sealandic lad always excited to add a new Micronation to his group.

Sometimes, if Mortemia was careful about the angle at which he looked, he thought he could catch Wy staring at him. He couldn't decide if it was out of curiosity, or something more. But there was nothing denying that she was a pretty girl.

"Has my Mortemia gained some affection for little Miss Wy?" Antonio asks teasingly one day after the other Micronations left Antonio's house. Lately, his home had been vibrant once again as there was never a dull moment. The other Micronations seemed drawn to the mansion that dated back to the raging Spanish Empire.

Voices and laughter bubbled through the corridors, letting the sunshine in once more. Mortemia was happy with his friends, content with staying with Antonio, and his small little nation was in good health.

Antonio found that he could smile once again.

"N-No!" Mortemia vehemently denies, though the tell-tale blush on his cheeks tells otherwise.

Antonio gives a goodhearted laugh, his emerald eyes alight with mirth. "Ah, something tells me you're lying." To prove his point, he pokes the blushing boy's cheek. "Have I taught you nothing, Mortemia?" He asks. "You have been living with me, the country of passion for nearly ten years now! It should be your blood to swoop in and sweep her off her feet, dance with her until she can't breathe, and ravish her with a gentle goodnight kiss."

"Shut up!" Mortemia insists, shifting awkwardly on his feet, and Antonio can't help but think of how cute it was. By human standards, Mortemia looked as though he could be in the area of twelve to fourteen, definitely in his early teens. It was a mystery how he didn't look younger, considering how young his nation was, but that was the great mystery of countries and their aging process.

Antonio himself had grown incredibly fast for a nation, from his birth expected to fight and conquer. He was practically a child himself, but his body was that of a grown man as he set off to conquer Europe. However, the Italies had a different story – being stuck as a child for nearly a thousand years.

"What would you know of wooing someone, anyway?" Mortemia huffs, a pout on his face.

Oh, now there was a story that he could tell. "I was once told that I was the greatest lover in the world, though my partner would deny he said it until the end of time." There was a gentle pang in his heart at thinking about Lovino. Nearly two hundred years, and the pain was still raw, but it had gotten easier to think about him, and he knew that with time…he would be okay.

"Pft, you?"

"Of course me!" Antonio says proudly.

Mortemia folds his arms across his chest in a defensive manner, his aqua eyes searching Antonio's. "Oh yeah, tell me about her then."

Sighing, Antonio walks around and placed a hand on Mortemia's back, guiding him to the sofa in the living room. It would be a bit of a story.

Over the next hour Antonio tells his ward of the legend of Southern Italy. Cast away by society in favor of his brother, though soon found solace in the arms of a gentle Spaniard. He tells about the fiery temper guarding a fragile heart, and Mortemia listens, drinking the words in like fine wine.

Then Antonio's tone changes. His vibrant forest eyes take on the shade of night, and Mortemia slinks back a bit, unused to seeing this side of Antonio. "And then one day the two halves decided to unite," Antonio explains, "everyone rejoiced, as the two halves of Italy would now become one. There were no more barriers, and the people felt unified to be under the service of both Italy Veniziano, and Italy Romano. However, it wasn't as such, because when the two halves unified, it made it only possible for there to be one Italy."

"Italy Veneziano was favored by the citizens, by the _world_, so the brother disappeared. And the world was happier."

Silence.

"Bullshit," Mortemia spits.

Antonio is brought out of his trance at the violent words, shell-shocked to hear such things coming from the micronation. "M-Mortemia! Language!" He scolds.

"No! Because that's bullshit, the world was just fine with Italy Romano there! Why did he have to go? That's not _fair_!"

Taken aback by all that Mortemia is saying, Antonio places a hand on his shoulder. After all, how many times has he thought the same thing? Because it _wasn't _fair. Italy Romano was loved, and he may have been looked down upon by some people, but that was only because they never saw the truth to him, they never bothered to look past the spitfire attitude to unveil the heart of gold underneath. After all, one has to dig for treasure.

"Mortemia," Antonio says slowly, cautiously, "no, it isn't fair, but it's the way it had to be…the way things had to happen. There could only be one Italy. I hate it, and there were times I wished it were Italy Veneziano that was dead. But you have to think, how would you feel if you knew your brother had to die so you could live? Veneziano has practically tortured himself over what happened, even though he had no control, and after all that happened, I truly can't blame him. Because if he had the choice, I know he would have died for his brother in a heartbeat. They may not have always acted like it, but those brothers were close, as they were the only family they had. Their Grandpa is gone, leaving just the two of them left. Sure there is Seborga, you know him, but it just wasn't the same." He sighs. "I know it's a difficult concept to accept, but no country is forever."

Mortemia is silent, his ocean eyes brewing a hurricane as he stares off to the far wall. "Well that's not right then. The brother should die, too."

_The_

_Brother_

_Should_

_Die_

_Too_

* * *

**2170**

_Dear Lovino,_

_It's been three hundred years since I've last seen you. I miss your smile, your warm hazel eyes, and the way your tan skin glowed under the heat of the Spanish sun. I miss popping a tomato in your mouth, I miss kissing your lips; I miss making passionate love during the night. I miss everything about you._

_It's strange to think, three hundred years. No human has ever had to survive that long without a loved one, and if I was human, I would be with you now. _

_I'm still waiting for the day that I can be with you again, though the desire isn't as strong as before, because I know you wouldn't want me to cut my time short. So I'm staying here on earth, taking care of Mortemia._

_You would be proud of him. He's grown into a fine, strong young man. He simply isn't the child I found all those years ago. No, he's powerful, insightful, smart, charming, and kind. He may have a bit of a temper, but he knows what it means to be a country._

_That's right! Country! Mortemia has grown in power and size. Spain donated a part of its land, as well as a bit of France. His nation resides on the border of Spain and France now, and because of him, France and Spain no longer even share a border! _

_His country is actually rather impressive. It has a monarchy, but the king is kind and good to his citizens, and the economy is prospering, so no one truly minds. _

_I think I raised him well, and I couldn't be prouder._

_But he's leaving me lonely, Lovi. I'm going to be left alone in this house once again, and I don't know how I'm going to do that. I used to have the pitter-patter of footsteps, bubbling child's laughter, or even a comfortable silence to keep me getting through the day. I'm no longer going to have that._

_I'm going to be alone._

_Today's the day he declares his independence._

* * *

**2230**

Two grown men sit on a balcony, sipping fine wine and enjoying light conversation. The afternoon breeze wafts through the atmosphere, lightly rustling the Spaniard's hair.

Mortemia takes a sip of his own drink, sighing as he relaxes back in the chair, enjoying the comfortable silence that had fallen over them.

"Spain," Mortemia says, his expression suddenly turning serious.

Antonio is shocked, needless to say. Never had Mortemia referred to him as that. It was always Antonio. "Y-Yes, Mortemia?" He asks, tilting his head to the side, his green eyes growing curious.

Turning his ocean-colored eyes to look at his former caretaker, Mortemia says, "I've been independent from your help for sixty years. It's been a wonderful sixty years, too. My economy is flourishing, my people are growing in number every day, but I just can't feel as if I'm a country yet. There's so much I'm missing."

"Missing? Such as what?" Antonio queries. After all, it seemed to Antonio that Mortemia had everything he needed.

Sighing, Mortemia says, "history. I'm missing history. Look at your nation for example; you're littered with alliances and wars. I used to have an alliance with you, but what country can truly be self-respecting if there's no war?"

Silence, and not the comfortable sort, falls upon them. Eventually Antonio finds it in himself to speak. "Any _lucky_ country that's what! Mortemia, you don't want war. It's nasty, it's bloody, and there's no glory in such a thing. Trust me, stay out of war as much as possible."

Antonio is shocked when he hears a dry, humorless chuckle escape the other man. "Oh, Spain, don't you know? I've already declared it."

"W-With who?!" Antonio splutters, his eyes wide. He nearly knocks over his wine in surprise.

Smirking, Mortemia's eyes turn icy. "Italy."

* * *

**2231**

_Dear Lovino,_

_I don't know what to do. _

_Mortemia has declared war on your brother, and he's sending the first of his troops over to the nation as I write!_

_Italy has done nothing wrong! He has kindly stayed out of Mortemian affairs. Actually, I'm fairly certain he hasn't seen Mortemia since he was a child!_

_But he's grown power hungry. He wants Italy for its land, for its influence, for its name. He wants to make it a Mortemian state. _

_He's gone mad, Lovino!_

_I can only hope his troops fail. I would intervene, but my boss simply refuses to do a thing, as it is between Italy and Mortemia, and apparently the Kingdom of Spain has no business intervening._

_I'm worried, and, wherever you're watching from, I know you're worried too._

* * *

**2245**

The war raged for near fifteen years before either side seemed to have the upper hand.

Both sides fought diligently, and Germany was actually rather impressed with the way Italian troops retaliated.

Ever since the death of his brother, Italy Veneziano steeled himself, grew stronger, and toughened. He had experienced the death of his brother, and he knew that he now bared the weight of the country, and he wasn't going to let his brother down.

Mortemian soldiers were strong though, the country injecting steroids into their soldiers to insure better fighters. It was skullduggery at its finest, underhanded, and a smart move battle wise. After all, Mortemia dictated what it did to its soldiers, and steroids were declared legal for their troops.

In the end, they were lethal.

Italy was falling.

* * *

**2245**

Crumpled on his floor, Italy Veneziano takes a shaky breath muddled with blood.

_Breath in_

_Breath out_

"L-Luddy…" He coughs, thinking of his blond lover. He wishes to be cradled in his warm, inviting arms. He wants to be coddled and told that everything was going to be fine, but it was impossible.

All other citizens of the world were forbidden to enter Italy at threat of being shot on sight.

Feliciano is alone, and cold, and scared. He's given up; after all, that's what Italians do best.

With some of the last bits of energy he possesses, Feliciano brings his left hand up to his mouth and kisses his ring, whispering pleas to his husband to save him; however, it's for naught.

"Ciao, Veneziano," a voice leers.

With struggle, Feliciano raises his head to meet the sight of a strong and cruel man: Mortemia. "What…do you want?" He asks, trying to keep his voice steady. However, it's soon lost as he curls into himself, coughing violently and spitting blood out onto his already soiled floor.

A sneer emerges on Mortemia's face after that. "Disgusting…that's what you are: a disgusting excuse for a nation."

Silence.

Through a garbled struggle, Mortemia hears a pathetic, "please." He laughs at the beg.

Please stop, please finish this, please don't make me suffer any longer, is what Feliciano wishes to say, but cannot.

"_Please_," he mocked, "why should I do anything other than rid the world of scum like you?" He demands, walking forward to give a violent kick to his side, effectively cracking ribs.

Feliciano doesn't even have it in him to scream.

"After all, what kind of sick, sick man sits back and lets his brother die for him."

Tears well in Feliciano's eyes, dripping down his bruised and bloodstained cheeks, and he wonders why this is coming up of all things. Feliciano has tortured himself for centuries over what happened, wishing every day that it could have been he that left this world rather than his brother.

"That's why I came here, idiot. Not for your land, oh no, because I know the story. I know how your brother died, leaving you in charge of this excuse of a country. I came to bring justice to him."

Silence. That's all Feliciano granted Mortemia. He's done with this, and he's ready for it to end. He wants to die; he wants to stop suffering this horrible pain. He's ready to see his brother again.

Mortemia flicks out a knife and leans down, cutting a smooth, long gash in Feliciano's forehead, and it brings him delight when there's no resistance.

Blood streams down Feliciano's face, caking in his eyelids, painting the flesh canvas crimson; some enters his mouth, and there's a rust and salt flavor that he can taste. He simply closes his eyes and waits for the end.

"The brother should die too."

* * *

**2245**

_Dear Lovino,_

_You have company now. You're no longer alone. You're with your brother._

_Italy has fallen…_

_The night Feliciano died was the night Italy surrendered to Mortemian forces, and the night Ludwig lost his lover._

_I know his pain only too well. _

_I'm alone again Lovino. Mortemia has gone power hungry, insane and beyond reason._

_I feel like I've failed. I blame myself for your brother's death because…if I had just raised him better, maybe he wouldn't be this way. I look back and try to see where I went wrong, and now I feel as if the whole thing was a mistake._

_I miss you. I miss him. I want to be rid of this loneliness._

* * *

**2400**

_Dear Lovino,_

_It's finally happened. Ludwig has snapped._

_He's mourned for over a hundred years, and now he wants vengeance. _

_Germany has declared war on Mortemia._

* * *

**2445**

The blond man is forced back into a chair; a gun pressed to his head the only thing keeping him stationary.

Mortemia smiles malevolently, a hurricane brewing in his ocean eyes. "Well, Ludwig," he says, his voice silvery. "Forty five years of war and it finally comes to this. I'll admit, you Germans are good," he cocks the gun against his temple, "but not good enough."

A pair of hands of some of the highest up troops bind Ludwig's hands with rope behind the chair, tying his feet as well. Soon, a gag is slipped into his mouth, disabling all form of communication from the German.

Mortemia tosses the gun behind him in distaste, the sound of it clanking on the floor behind him. "How'd you like that gun? Looks real as you and me, but it's entirely fake; couldn't harm a fly if it wanted to. However," he says, flicking a malevolent and sharp knife from his pocket, "this is entirely real."

Ludwig's eyes widen upon seeing the blade, his own eye mirrored in it. He struggles against the restraints, the chair bouncing and sliding a bit as the gag muffles his curses.

All struggle stops when the cool edge of the blade is pressed right against the supple flesh of his throat.

"Such a shame it had to come to this," Mortemia sighs, almost regrettably. "I've always admired your country. Excellent military and your people are tough as rocks. But in the end, it works out even better for me." He presses the knife a little firmer down on his neck, beads of blood popping out. "How do you feel? Knowing your precious land is about to become Mortemian territory?"

In an instant of surprise, the blade is retracted, Mortemia looking over it in fascination.

The cool blade once again meets Ludwig's skin, caressing his cheek the way a lover does. "You know. I remember being in a situation much like this one a few hundred years ago. I believe it was a cute little Italian with a little curl."

Ludwig's glare turns murderous, and once again curses are muffled by the gag.

Mortemia continues. "He was curled into a little pathetic ball on his floor. I believe he kissed his wedding ring right before I spoke – wishing his little German husband would swoop in and save him."

With that, a sight rarely seen to anyone appeared. Tears emerging in Ludwig's eyes. The little pristine droplets emerged over his lashes, falling down his face in a graceful manner. If they weren't tears of agony, one might say it was beautiful. Though there was nothing beautiful about this war.

"And then I took my lovely little blade and _dragged _it across his forehead," Mortemia explained as he did just the very same action to Ludwig. Only this time, Ludwig reacted, squirming in the chair, trying to break free as his skin was sliced open. "Just like that."

The blood dribbled down Ludwig's pallor, painting just like his Italian lover would do.

"After that, I killed him."

* * *

**2500**

_Dear Lovi,_

_I…I don't know how much more I can take. _

_You're gone. Feliciano's gone. Ludwig's gone. Mortemia is, for lack of a better word, insane._

_With the nations of Italy and Germany under Mortemia's control, it's no surprise that he has become the powerhouse of Europe. With so much land, and so much influence, no one dares to cross him._

_I'm truly alone. I can't even see Francis anymore due to the fact that I would have to cross Mortemian territory to do so. You may say I'm pathetic, but Mortemia frightens me. I raised him, and yet I've seen him turn into a monster. _

_I love you. I just want to be happy again._

* * *

**2502**

A knock on the door awakes Antonio from his afternoon siesta, and the newly woken Spaniard stumbles through his house to fling his door open.

What he sees most definitely wakes him up. "M-Mortemia," he gasps as he sees the nation standing there in all his glory.

The nation gives a friendly wave. "Hello Spain, mind if I come in?" He asks, already making his way through the door.

"Erm…I guess," Antonio says, shutting the door. "Not that it isn't nice to see you, but…it's been so long. What's with the sudden visit?" He asks.

"Take a seat, why don't you?" Mortemia offers, gesturing to a spot on the sofa nearby. Antonio hesitantly obliges, sinking into the cushion of the couch.

"Mortemia?" Antonio hesitantly queries, wondering what the nature of this visit is.

The blond man sighs and makes himself comfortable, relaxing back into the sofa. "It's nice to be back in this house. It brings back memories, that's for sure - which is sort of why I'm here." Antonio quirks an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. "You see, I've always liked Spain. Nice climate, nice people, nice tomatoes. That's why I want it."

Realization finally dawned upon Antonio after that. Mortemia wants Spain.

"Well you can't have it!" He shouts, standing up and looking down at Mortemia. "It's my nation! You can't have it! Mine!" With his tone and the words mixed together, he almost sounds like a pouting child.

"Well, Antonio, then I'm afraid it's war between us."

* * *

**2503**

_Dear Lovi,_

_He…Mortemia…he's declared war on Spain._

_He's snapped and is beyond all control. _

_I'm going to war with Mortemia. This is my worst nightmare, Lovi! I can't…I can't fight him. I won't be able to win either. He's the powerhouse of Europe, and has every nation locked under an iron fist of fear. _

_No nation will come to my aid, as Mortemia will strike against them. No other continent is interested in European affairs anymore, and Alfred has lost his will to be the hero._

_I'm alone._

_This is the end of Spain._

* * *

**2505**

The war has been short. With little will to remain, Spain sent minimal soldiers to cut its losses. Everyone knew that the great Kingdom of Spain had fallen the minute Mortemia declared war, and indeed it has.

Antonio has no more will to live. Everyone he cares for is gone, recently learning that Gilbert died along with his brother.

All he has left in the world is Francis, and even then there was no possible way to see him.

He's ready to go, ready to leave behind his world of solitude, and ready to be with Lovino once more. He's ready to be happy again.

He's been coughing up blood, and bruises and cuts litter his body in a violent array. He welcomes them though, because every cut, every drop of blood that leaves him is one drop closer to being rid of this sadness.

Antonio just wants Mortemia to walk in and finish the job already and take control of the land of Spain.

A creak of the door signals someone's entrance, and Antonio is ready to accept death. "Hola…Mortemia…" he chokes, coughing up blood into a rag, violently shaking.

Soon, he feels a hand on his back, and it's not cold, malevolent, or cruel. It's warm and comforting. Hesitantly Antonio turns his head, and what he's met with wasn't a sight he was prepared for. "F…Francis?" He chokes.

"Shh," the Frenchman hushes. "Don't speak, mon ami."

Antonio doesn't know what kind of card fate is dealing him, but he was grateful, grateful for this one last moment of happiness.

Francis is gentle with his tone, gentle with cleaning and tending to Antonio's wounds, wiping up the blood that dribbles down his chin every time he violently coughs. Antonio can only watch, allowing Francis to do some work on him, and he feels nothing but relief for these last acts of kindness.

"He does not know I'm here," Francis said, referring to Mortemia. "When he comes, he will deliver a horrible, painful death to you, one that you do not deserve. He is insane, cruel, and vicious, and I am so sorry that I was forced to stay behind the lines, but I simply had to think of my own country."

Antonio understood, and sent a nod his way, signaling that he indeed did. He didn't blame Francis, didn't blame any of them.

"He is power hungry, and one day the world will rebel on him or he will take the world, and you aren't going to be here for that. You are my best friend, Antonio, and you do not deserve to die by his hand. That's why I'm here."

This was a shock to Antonio, hearing this. What was Francis saying? He was going to kill him? His own best friend was there to murder him?

But then he understood. This was a blessing. Francis didn't want him to die in a cruel, horrible way; he wanted his friend to leave the world peacefully, and he wanted him to finally be at rest.

Antonio smiled as blood spluttered through his lips, giving him a nod, signaling that it was fine to kill him.

Francis nodded, giving him a sad smile as he leaned down. "It's time. Be happy again."

* * *

_Dear Lovino,_

_I'm coming._

* * *

**If any of you were wondering where the inspiration of Mortemia's name came from, Mortem is the Latin word for death. **

**Reviews are lovely!**


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